


Choice

by mettaverse



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Superheroes, evil asshole dickhole superhero iverson, ex superhero lance, gang leader kuro, lance getting beat up, not sure if its "graphic" depictions of violence but there is violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 20:33:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11409708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mettaverse/pseuds/mettaverse
Summary: Kuro deals with the effects of mind control. Lance helps him through it, despite being the one in pain.





	Choice

**Author's Note:**

> THIS WAS ORIGINALLY FOR KURO WEEK BUT HERE YA GO   
> iverson is an evil dickhead whose power is mind control. kuro is a gang leader whos stupidly in love

Kuro will never get rid of the thrill of it.

 The warmth of blood squelching in between his fingers; the burn of gunshots grazing against his body; the unadulterated fear shaking the eyes of bodies before he puts an end to them. And maybe it's' fucked up- probably fucked up. And he can go on about a sad past or a shitty childhood but in reality, it's the power that he loves. He chooses to kill. He chooses to squeeze the life out of human beings and he will choose it every single day until that autonomy is ripped from his broken fingertips.

 And he chooses to live. He gets up in the morning, gets shaved, dressed, and walks to work as if there's not men dangling like flies underneath his feet by the time he's arrived. He treats his people well- those with loyalty are rewarded immensely- power, money and respect but never enough to keep them sated. He chooses that, too, sees the way the heroes sit on their thrones, using the people as a footstool. They were given everything- and the people had a choice in giving that to them, too. And the heroes had the choice of taking it from them, using dilapidated homes as kindling for a better, brighter world despite the hunger stricken family huddling underneath their shiny police blessed shoes. In this world, it's about choice.

 Until it isn't.

 See, there's this kid, man, boy thing that has the biggest pair of blue eyes and the thickest pair of eyelashes he's seen in his entire, miserable life. It's those eyes that belong to children- can see straight past you, through you, can pick out each face you've buried in your skin before you can even breathe their name. Those types of eyes. Lance knows what he sees, who he sees, and makes decisions to trust or not to trust, and most of the time, it works out for him. For all intents and purposes, he's smart, smarter than Kuro. He knows who's a good man and who's not. He knows who deserves to die and who deserves to be given a chance, even before Kuro does himself. And maybe that makes him stupid- he sees these pieces of shits, and these pieces of shits see themselves reflected back in his eyes and he just _smiles._ He smiles and he kisses them goodnight and good morning. He looks at them as they settle into bed like they're gold, like they're worth something more than the blood on their hands, than the empire he's built from mortar and bones.

 He chose to kiss Kuro back in that alleyway. He chose to press his body against his, rake his nails through his hair and bite his bottom lip. He chose to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until Kuro barely knew his own name, until he didn't care to know it if it meant he got to hold this body in his arms just a moment longer. Lance chose to smile against his skin. He chose to make him laugh doubled over, snorting and wheezing until nothing came out. He chose all of these things and yet-

 Kuro never chose to fall in love with him. And yet one morning he woke up Lance's sleeping form and thought or the first time: _this is something I want to protect._ He feels the blood thrumming in his veins, not in a war song, but in the thrum of a bird at the dawning of the world- ready, eager, and so, so thankful to bare witness to something greater than itself. And for the first time, he's glad to be human. At least a little bit.

 

*

  _It feels like the world is on fire and he's the fire but he hurts he hurts he hurts._

  _Distantly, through water, he hears someone screaming at him to wake up, to stop, but he can't hear them properly- there's too much in his ears, too much in his lungs- he's gasping for air but all he gets is regulated acid poured down his lungs but he can't stop breathing it in. why can't he stop breathing it in?_

  _His hand jerks and connects with something solid and warm and he can quickly tell it's flesh- another spasm and suddenly it's bone. He's not telling himself to do any of this and he tries to reign back but a string on his joint is steadfast, unmoving and relentless- his body is a puppet made out of war paint and muscle but it is a puppet all the same and holy fucking shit, who's screaming so much? Who's in so much pain?_

  _A hand wraps around a throat. He feels the familiar ridges against his palm- this throat is so small compared to him. Every throat is small compared to his hands but why is this one-_

  _He blinks and the red turns pink. His hand squeezes against his say so and he can feel the ridges straining against the pressure and it feels good to hurt, it feels good to go back to what he knows. Like coming home after a long day at work but this isn't home and this isn't work and it's wrong wrong wrong wrong- he blinks again and again until one thing and one thing only shines through-_

  _Blue eyes. Blue, blue eyes._

 

*

 He wakes up screaming.

 The world is dark and he's so, so thankful it's not red anymore. He blinks, blinks again and it remains this way- dark, black, blessed. He tries out his fingers and counts them- one, two, three, four, five- again and again and again- he can move them on his own. There's no more strings yanking them back. One two three four five one two three four five one two-

 “Baby.”

 He snaps his head around. “Kuro,” the voice tries again. It's hoarse, hurt, broken, but trying. Trying for him. “You're okay. You're safe.” A hand presses against the back of Kuro's neck. He blinks. Blinks again. And it's that blue again, the one from his dream. A rush of air leaves him and-

 “You shouldn't be touching me,” he croaks, “you shouldn't be in bed with me. You shouldn't be around me-”

 “Kuro-”

 “I _hurt_ you. I _hurt_ you _so fucking bad._ ”

 “Please-”

 “No, no I _hurt you_ -”

 It all comes back to him. The fight, the way Iverson's fingers coiled around his mind, his body, his soul and launched Kuro at the one thing, the one person, that mattered in this entire fucking world. The way Lance's body danced around Kuros' and he was good, Kuro made sure he was good, but Kuro was better- he was a weapon, the one difference being that instead of oil he had blood and instead of a bomb he had a heart and what was the worse one, really?

 Kuro's hands caught him again and again. Lance wasn't fighting back, just dodging, reflecting, rolling out of the way but Kuro was relentless, a down storm that refused to let up and his baby was so tired, yelling out his name as if it could snap the threads around his vessel and bring Kuro home to him. As if Kuro was strong enough to hear his voice through the pool of red he floundered in. He was so weak, too weak, he could never-

 The bedside lamp flashes on and Kuro squeezes his eyes shut, the world in a sudden burning glow. Slowly, he squints, and then fully opens his eyes.

 Lance is sitting up, one o Kuro's sleep shirts dangling off his right shoulder. His hair is mussed, curls darting this way and that and Kuro wants to smile, almost, at the way Lance looks with sleep still in his features.

 But his neck is dark and bruising. Black and blue all over. His lip is torn and healing black, and if he looks closely Kuro can see the speckles of cuts on Lance's cheekbones, right below his eyes."I'm okay. See? I'm here.”

 “You're hurt-”

 “And alive. I'm hurt and alive.”

 He shakes his head- no one got out hurt and alive from Kuro. But Lance is leaning over, and gently tugs Kuro's hand- the hand that was wrapped around Lance's throat a week before, the hand that landed him in the hospital unable to speak, drink, or eat, the hand that nearly snapped him out of existence _this one_ \- and puts it over his chest. Duly, Kuro can feel the rhythmic beating of Lance's heart. _Here, here, here. Alive. Okay. Alive._

 “I hurt you,” he whispers. “I hurt you.”

 “You didn't. Iverson did. He used you and he hurt you, too. He hurt us both. But we're both okay. We're both alive. We're both okay, I promise.”

 Kuro doesn't realize he's been crying until he puts his face in Lance's stomach. His shirt quickly becomes damp, sticking to Kuro's cheeks but he doesn't care. He stays here, feeling the warmth seep into his face. Warmth. Alive. Breathing. _Here, here, here._ Lance's fingers card through Kuro's hair. He's moving, he's okay, he's safe. Lance's stomach rises and falls and Kuro will never get rid of the thrill of it- the breath leaving Lance's lungs, the heart beating against his chest, the finger's smoothing against Kuro's hair. “I love you.” It's muffled so he says it again, louder, “I love you more than anything.”

 “I know,” Lance whispers. “I love you with all my heart.”

 When he calms down, when the tears stop and his breathing becomes even, he listens for the sounds of Lance asleep. The soft exhales and inhales, even and rhythmic in the silence of their room. And he considers leaving.

 Picking up, leaving this town, this city. This man. This beautiful man with eyes that saw Kuro as something worth loving.

 He considers leaving it. But he chooses, in the end, to shove his face back into the warmth of Lance's belly. He won't be getting any more sleep tonight- can't get Iverson's laugh out of his head. Can't get his eyes, cold and enthralled at the prospect of Lance's death. Of Kuro's murder. If his face is too cold, if his fingers are too empty he can feel the snakes of Iverson sneak through his ears and into his skull and he doesn't have a choice if they whisper commands to him but-

 He chooses to listen to Lance's heart beat. _I am here, I am here, I am here,_ it says. And he chooses to listen to it till morning.


End file.
